


The Proper Fit

by Desertpoet



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, GFY, Injury Recovery, Light Angst, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mental Health Issues, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-06 06:03:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1847104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desertpoet/pseuds/Desertpoet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson thought he was content, until the day the famous Sherlock Holmes walked into his shop, and turned his life upside down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Proper Fit

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: This is an au where John and Sherlock never met. After he returned home from Afghanistan, John chose a very different path. Reichenbach still happened but without John. This story begins sometime after Sherlock's return.
> 
> There are many people without whom I wound not have finished this story. I am very lucky to have all these wonderful people in my life.
> 
> Thanks to my beta thevanishingtwin who is incredibly patient and helpful. 
> 
> To my other beta, you know who you are. Thanks for all your help and support as well as putting up with all my whining when I was having doubts.
> 
> Thanks to my alpha reader, toooldforthissh for her support and encouragement
> 
> Thank you for aconissa for britpicking and for sticking with me. Her enthusiasm for my writing really helped boost my confidence.
> 
> Thanks to vachebleu for britpicking the final version, answering my questions, and her thoughtful suggestions.
> 
> Thanks to Jilly for all her help and cheerleading.
> 
> Last but not least to earlgreytea68 because when I told her my idea, she didn't call me crazy and encouraged me to give writing a try.

 

Gorgeous Banner by the talented Chestnut Nola

 

John came to attention when the door of his shop opened and an extremely tall man with luxurious curly hair and a majestic yet almost alien beauty strode into his shop. His gaze swept the shop, taking in every detail before he turned intense blue eyes on John.

John felt himself being dissected, taken apart by that intense stare. It wasn’t as unpleasant a sensation as it should have been. He considered the potential customer with a professional eye, noticing the lovely lines of the body, evident even under the casual clothes he was wearing. He took in the man’s attire carefully. He was wearing old jeans and a grey hoodie. John itched to get his hands on him. God, he would be stunning in one of John’s suits. John took a deep breath. _Be professional_ , he chided himself. No ogling the customers.

“Hello, welcome to Watson’s. I’m the owner, John Watson. How can I help you today, sir?” he asked politely.

Those eyes ran over him one more time. Then his potential customer appeared to come to a decision. “Yes, I believe you can,” the man said in an aristocratic voice. “I am in need of a tailor. You were recommended to me by a mutual acquaintance, Mike Stamford.”

“Oh, you know Mike?” John asked pleasantly surprised.                              

“Yes, and he assured me you do excellent work. That remains to be seen. However, I am in desperate need of new clothing; as you can see my sartorial options are extremely limited. Also, given I can discern no connection between you and my meddlesome brother – a fact which I find very attractive – I am willing to give you a chance.”

The man was so arrogant, John felt a bit annoyed despite his earlier fascination. And what was that about his brother? He forced himself to smile blandly as the man continued.

“I require a whole new wardrobe; shirts and suits, in black. I would like a couple of ready-made pieces and I wish to commission several bespoke items as well. I have exacting standards. I hope you can meet them.”

John kept his face blank from years of practice. He could hardly believe his ears or his good fortune. He’d be able to pay rent for a couple of months if he played his cards right. He would be able to focus on getting his new business off the ground.  He felt his heart speed up in excitement, but when he spoke his voice was steady.

“We can certainly help you. We have several ready to wear pieces and we also do custom work.” Are these suits for everyday use?” he asked.

The man nodded. “Will you need any formal attire for special events? Evening wear for example.”

His new client made a disgusted face. “No,” he said emphatically.

“I see.” John said. Amused, he hid a smile at his client’s reaction.  “That’s fine. I’ll need to take a few measurements. Mr…?”

“Holmes, Sherlock Holmes,” he replied.

Sherlock Holmes. It was an odd name but it suited him, and added to the aura of mystery surrounding him. Something about the name was familiar. It niggled at John’s mind but he brushed it off and smiled. “Mr. Holmes, of course, come this way please.”

“Sherlock, please,” his customer said, looking almost surprised at himself.

“Sherlock, of course. I’m John then. This way, please.” Again John felt a glimmer of recognition. The name sounded familiar but he couldn't place it.

He led his customer over to the leather sofa outside the changing rooms. Sherlock removed his hoodie and tossed it casually over the arm of the sofa.

“I also need a new coat. Exactly like this one.” The man took out his phone and after fiddling with it he held out a picture of himself. In it he was wearing a long wool coat with the collar turned up.

John couldn't help but stare. God, he was gorgeous! John shook himself. With effort, he turned his mind away from his new customer’s beauty and focused on the task at hand. This was made more difficult by the nature of his profession. It was in his job description to stare at his customers and take note of their natural posture and the way they moved. It helped him to discern the client’s individual style.

“That’s a Belstaff Milford coat isn’t it? It suits you,” John said, keeping his voice even.

 Sherlock nodded. “It’s been discontinued,” he explained with a pout. He looked very much put out at being denied his coat.

John found it adorable in spite of himself. “Well, I don’t make coats, but we can see about finding you another. Have you tried the usual places like eBay?”

“eBay?” Sherlock asked, obviously puzzled.

John was surprised and bemused; who didn’t know eBay? “It’s a website,” he explained, “where people auction off items.”

“Oh,” Sherlock said. “Dull.” He shook his head as if dismissing the information.

John found himself charmed again and he smiled and said, “If you like, I can see if I can find you another coat exactly like this one. I can’t promise I’ll find it, but I’ll try.”

Sherlock nodded, “Yes, Thank you.” He said _thank you_ as if he wasn’t sure it was the correct thing to say or not. That wasn't unexpected. Sherlock didn’t seem the polite type.

Being in retail had given John a sixth sense. He could always pick out the difficult ones. He tried not to think about how much he liked Sherlock despite his behaviour. John decided to move on. “Well then, before we begin, can I get you something to eat or drink? We have coffee and tea. Also some lovely chocolate biscuits if you’re interested.”

Sherlock visibly perked up at the mention of biscuits. “Yes, Please. Both biscuits and tea. I take it with milk, two sugars.”

“Of course, have a seat. I’ll be with you shortly.”

He walked to his back room, grabbed a new file and his measuring tape and carried them into his office. His office was really a small room, little more than a closet, but John didn't mind. He hardly ever used it anyway. Against one wall on a table sat a coffee maker and an electric kettle. Luckily, he had been about to about have a cup himself and the water was boiling hot. He hurriedly but efficiently set about making the tea.

While it was steeping, he took a china plate he kept for his customers and arranged a few biscuits as nicely as he could. When the tea was done, he set it and the plate on a tray. He tucked the file and measuring tape under his arm and walked back to his new customer. He set the tray on a small table next tothe sofa.

He handed Sherlock his cup of tea and indicated the biscuits. “Please, help yourself.”

Sherlock took a tentative sip of tea. “This is quite good,” he said with obvious enjoyment. He reached out and took three biscuits, scoffing down the first two.

John was stunned and amused. The man didn't seem the type to eat a lot of sweets. He was rail thin. In fact, he would have said the man barely ate at all. He couldn't stop thinking about how familiar the man’s name sounded. He knew he’d heard it before. If only he could remember!

When Sherlock had finished with his tea and biscuits, John asked him to stand up.“If you’ll allow me, I need to take a few measurements.”

Sherlock nodded his assent, and John began the necessary if somewhat boring task. He had been working for a few minutes when Sherlock asked, “You are a doctor; specifically a surgeon. Why are you working as a tailor?”

Shocked, John could only stare.“Excuse me,” he began, “how did you-”

“Ah, I see a hand tremor,” Sherlock cut him off. “No one wants a surgeon with unsteady hands,” he smirked.

John smarted at the reminder of his failure. But before he could say the harsh words that were on the tip of his tongue, it hit him. Of course, Sherlock Holmes. “You’re that famous detective who faked his own death. I didn't realise.”

Sherlock raised one eyebrow, but he nodded. “I assure you faking my own death was necessary. I do not wish to discuss it further.” Sherlock continued, “You were a soldier. You were wounded in the leg – no, wait – the shoulder. The wound is at least four years old. The Middle East is most likely. Was it Afghanistan or Iraq?”

John couldn't deny he was impressed. “That’s brilliant,” he exclaimed. “How did you know?”

“Oh, it’s a simple deduction. It’s obvious,” he said haughtily. After a few minutes, Sherlock said, “That’s not what people usually say.”

“What do they usually say?” John asked.

“Piss off,” Sherlock replied.

John couldn't help the laugh that escaped. “I can see how that might happen,” he said. Unbidden, another smile rose to his lips. He realised he was flirting with a customer. _Stop it John_ , he chided himself. “I’m sorry, I’ll stop if it makes you uncomfortable,” he said aloud.

“No,” Sherlock said quickly. “I don’t mind. It’s not unpleasant.” He appeared faintly astonished at himself, as if no one had ever complimented him before.

John felt a rush of sympathy for him. John could already tell this man was something special. Apparently other people hadn't taken the time to see past Sherlock’s arrogance and abrupt nature.

John realised he was standing around chatting when he should be working. The man was utterly captivating. He got back to taking measurements. As much as he tried to be professional, his fingers seemed to tingle wherever he touched Sherlock, which was often. After a bit he told Sherlock he had enough to get started on the made to measure pieces.

He continued, “If you want several custom made suits, we’re going to have to schedule several fitting sessions. We can discuss a schedule after we are done today. You should know that a bespoke suit can take several weeks to finish.”

“That would be acceptable,” Sherlock said with a nod. “I’d also like to buy a couple of ready-to-wear suits today to tide me over.” He made a slight face as if he found the idea offensive.

John understood his reluctance. He could tell Sherlock had a strong sense of quality and style. He wasn’t the type to buy off-the-rack.

“Of course, I assure you my ready-to-wear suits are of the highest quality,” John reassured him. “Any colour or style preferences?” he asked.

Sherlock shook his head. “I trust you to choose the style you deem most appropriate, but as I said, I prefer black,” he said, before stepping into the dressing room.

John took a few minutes to carefully pick out a few shirts and suits he thought would match Sherlock’s colouring, including a purple shirt that he knew would be perfect on Sherlock and bring out the colour in his eyes. He wanted to make a good first impression.

He handed Sherlock his selections. “You can leave your old clothes there if you like, I’ll dispose of them.”

Sherlock nodded his agreement and John settled in to wait.

When Sherlock stepped out in a stylish black suit with the purple shirt, John was pleased to note it did bring out his eyes perfectly. Sherlock wore a satisfied expression. _He is so gorgeous that it should be illegal_ , John thought. Sherlock gave him a small smile. For the space of several heartbeats John forgot to breathe. He was in so much trouble.

****

Sherlock Holmes left Watson’s with his mind firmly on his new tailor. He usually dismissed most people within minutes of meeting them. As a rule people were hopelessly stupid and bored him to tears. Outwardly there was no reason that Watson should be lingering on his mind. At first glance, he was the definition of ordinary, but there was something about him that had caught Sherlock’s interest.

Watson- John knew about him. It had hardly been a shocking revelation as he unfortunately was a public figure. His reputation managed to keep most journalists away.

Sherlock hated talking about his life the past two years. He hadn’t wanted to talk about it with a stranger, but he had to admit that coming from John it hadn’t bothered him much at all. Sherlock didn’t know why. He frowned in annoyance.

He regarded his new clothes in appreciation. They were indeed high quality, as promised, and fit him quite well. The shirt was also similar to one of his favourites. He had been surprised when John had handed it to him. The tailor clearly excelled at his chosen profession. Sherlock was pleased to have found him. He hoped that John would be able to find his coat. He hadn’t truly expected John’s offer, but he was grateful. He wasn’t even sure why he’d brought it up, he was aware John didn’t make coats. He just didn’t feel like himself without the Belstaff. He had been devastated to come home and find it gone, although he’d never admit it out loud.

He'd greatly disliked wearing the old clothes in public but he hadn’t been exaggerating when he said his options were limited. Truthfully, he’d done it mostly to annoy his brother – whom he knew was watching – but, surprisingly, Watson hadn’t batted an eyelash. As much as he hated to admit it, he was intrigued. It had felt like a thousand years since he’d been intrigued by anything.

He had worked hard for over two years taking apart the network of a master criminal. It had been fascinating, if extremely slow work. Once he returned home he had been dreadfully bored. Not even the Work held his interest the way it used to.

His new tailor had caught him totally off guard. It was true that John had a hand tremor; Sherlock had deduced this easily. John had rubbed his hand when he’d become annoyed. Sherlock would bet he hadn’t even noticed he was doing it. Still, going from a doctor to a tailor was a large and somewhat startling change. Why had he done it? Sherlock needed more data. John Watson was an enigma. A mystery waiting to be solved, and Sherlock couldn’t wait to begin.

He began cataloguing everything he had learnt about the man in his mind palace for future reference. John still stood with the perfect posture of someone in the military. John had a sure and calm demeanour. He had taken Sherlock’s unique personality in stride, and much to Sherlock’s disbelief, his touch had not been unpleasant. He could not remember the last time anyone had touched him. He was certain he’d never enjoyed touch before.

Yes, Dr. Watson would provide many happy hours of entertainment, and if Sherlock found his company tolerable then all the better. In order to study him, of course, nothing more. Sherlock didn’t need anyone in his life. He was perfectly content on his own. He'd have to find a way to keep Mycroft from sticking his big fat nose in his business and possibly scaring John away. John Watson was his puzzle to solve. He would not share.

As Sherlock hailed a taxi to return to Baker Street, he did not let himself think about the way the touch of John’s fingers lingered on him.

****

John got home to his two room flat and sat down on his bumpy second hand couch. He hadn’t bothered with many personal touches. All his money had gone into the shop but he didn’t really mind living here. This flat was a far sight better than the bedsit he’d had when he first returned to London. At least he had his own bedroom. It was a bit bland and depressing but worth it and eventually, hopefully, he would be able to move once he was making a profit.

When he had returned to England, after being discharged, he found himself a retired washed up Army surgeon with an intermittent hand tremor. He’d been lost, adrift with no idea what he was going to do. Things had quickly become desperate, but a chance meeting with a former friend from med school had set his life on a different course.      

Mike had introduced John to the man who had taught John everything he knew about tailoring. He had agreed to take John on as his apprentice, and John had spent several years learning his new trade. When he felt John was ready his mentor had encouraged him not only to create his own designs but to start his own business.

John had come a long way from that damaged, terrified man he used to be, and had put all his energy into getting his life together. He was in a stable and much healthier place now. Now, John was focused on building his business, and making his dream a reality.

Sherlock Holmes was definitely going to give him a substantial push in that direction. They had agreed on several suits and they had set up appointments for fittings as well as to choose the fabrics Sherlock wanted. They would be of the best quality, of course. He needed to make sure Sherlock was happy. He was making a fair amount of money on him and it didn’t hurt that Sherlock was easy on the eyes. He also admitted to himself that he found Sherlock captivating on a personal level.

John stopped that train of thought before it could go any further. He needed to be careful. He didn’t know what was happening to him. He had seen plenty of good-looking men before, even some better looking than Sherlock bloody Holmes, but none had affected him this way. There was something so alluring about the man. He attracted John like a moth to a flame. Even his abrasiveness and superior attitude didn’t turn him off. 

After his initial annoyance, he had found Sherlock amusing and his deductions amazing. He was a bit embarrassed he hadn’t recognised Sherlock right off. Sherlock hadn’t seemed keen on talking about his past, but John was intrigued. He wanted to know more.

He had only been peripherally aware of the scandal involving Sherlock two years ago. He’d been too involved in his own life to pay much attention. He’d also been aware of Sherlock’s exoneration and eventual return; it had been all over the news after all.

Truthfully, John never expected the infamous detective to walk into his shop. He was not going to complain about whatever had led Sherlock to his door. He remembered Sherlock mentioning a brother, and was undeniably curious about his new customer.

John grabbed his laptop from where it sat on the coffee table. It was time to investigate Sherlock Holmes.

****

Three days later John was having a pretty good day. Though it was cloudy, the rain had held off and he’d had a couple of walk-in clients, both of whom had ordered suits. If this kept up, he’d be able to hire an assistant soon. It would be nice to have someone to help him with the customers, and a bit of company would be good too. Sherlock was due soon. John felt a rush of excitement at the thought of seeing him again.

He had learnt a lot about Sherlock’s career from his research but there had been precious little personal information. There had been many photos of him in the Milford coat and a silly deerstalker hat. John was determined to find the coat. He wanted to see Sherlock wear it in person.

The man’s website had given him a headache but what information John could glean had been interesting. He could find no mention of a brother. John was confused but even more intrigued. As a public figure, there should have been more information available about Sherlock. His Wikipedia page had been almost blank. Although, he suspected Sherlock himself was responsible for that. He was unmistakably a very private person, nevertheless John was determined to get to know Sherlock better.

John wondered what Sherlock thought of his shop. He could admit he hoped Sherlock was at least a little impressed. He looked around and as always felt twin surges of satisfaction and pride. He had given a lot of thought to how he wanted the shop to look, and he was quite pleased with the results. Watson’s sold custom made suits, as well as made to measure and ready to wear pieces. His shop had a warm and inviting atmosphere. Customers were encouraged to come in and relax, to take their time making their choices.

There were several comfortable chairs in clusters around the shop, grouped around the fitting room, as well as a few around the desk where John did his consultations. Near the fitting room there was also a very comfortable leather sofa. It had been expensive but it was worth it. On top of his desk there were several books filled with glossy pictures showcasing the different styles available as well as a book of fabric samples. There were several suits of John’s own design in the windows.

With a sigh John forced his wondering thoughts back to the present. He still had work to do before Sherlock arrived. In his back room, John got out his file on Sherlock and made sure he had everything he needed. He’d have to take several more measurements today and then he would be able to get started on the pattern for the bespoke suits.

This was the part of tailoring John liked the most. Taking pieces of cloth and a pattern and creating something completely new with it. He took great pride in his craftsmanship. Design and colour were both important, as was knowing the customer. Ensuring the proper fit for each of his clients was essential. He found the work fulfilling and the repetitive movements were almost hypnotic. It was quite relaxing.

Bespoke tailoring wasn’t easy though, and required concentration and precision. It was truly an art. Depending on the style and fabric the process could take up to two months. That might seem excessive, but men who ordered bespoke suits wanted the very best and John got a deep sense of gratification from knowing his hard work would be appreciated. John felt confident that his suits would hold up against any other better known brands in the UK, even though his shop wasn’t exactly on Savile Row. 

The work also brought up fond memories of his childhood. John had always been good with his hands, and he had learnt to sew from his mother. As a young boy he’d played next to her while she sewed. Later he’d watch her as she worked. It might have been a strange hobby for a boy to take up – John’s father certainly hadn’t been happy – but John had loved watching his mother. He had been fascinated by her ability to transform cloth into shirts or trousers. It felt magical somehow. He’d helped her darn socks and fix his father’s shirts. He was enthralled by all the brightly coloured types of fabric and the possibilities they represented. When his mother died, John had kept up with the sewing. He always felt close to his mother when he was working.

He had almost finished the alterations on the made to measure suits Sherlock had picked. They really hadn’t needed much alteration. These would fit him better than the off–the-rack suit he’d taken home that first day. It was a high quality black wool blend that would fit his client beautifully.

He’d noticed during his googling sessions that Sherlock preferred suits in a modern style that fit closely to his body. John heartily approved. He’d also noticed that Sherlock never wore a tie. While John appreciated being able to see Sherlock’s attractive neck, he knew Sherlock would look quite dashing with the right tie.

John hoped to convince Sherlock to try a colour other than black. He would be stunning in a grey or perhaps a blue pinstripe. _One step at a time_ , John cautioned himself. He sensed Sherlock wouldn’t take the suggestions well at first. Best not to rush into things.

_Good advice on more than one level_ , John thought wryly. Thanks to his research, John knew that by all accounts Sherlock Holmes was an antisocial bastard, but John liked him anyway. He hoped to take the opportunity to get to know him better.

He smoothed out his suit, one of his own designs.  Wanting to always make the right impression, he made sure he dressed properly in the best suits from his shop. His professional attire was a far cry from the soft wool jumpers and comfortable trousers he wore at home.

He heard the bell on the door tinkle softy. _Sherlock_ , John thought with a smile. “One minute please. I’ll be right with you,” he called out.

John got his supplies and the suit that needed a final fitting and walked out into the shop. He found Sherlock sprawled across one of the chairs outside the fitting rooms.

Sherlock gazed up as John got closer and nodded in acknowledgement. “John,” he said and then fell silent.

John waited, but no words were forthcoming. John moved to fill the suddenly uncomfortable silence. “Good afternoon, Sherlock,” he greeted him with a smile. “It’s good to see you again. Shall we get started? I have the suit you picked out the other day. I need to check to see if I need to make any final adjustments.”

He watched Sherlock more closely and realised that the man was tired. There were dark circles under his eyes and his clothing was a bit rumpled. He obviously hadn’t been to bed.

“If you’ll step into the changing room, I’ve got a clean shirt for you. One second.”

John walked over to one of the displays and picked up a crisp white shirt, then returned to the dressing room and knocked on the door. It opened and John caught a glimpse of Sherlock’s naked chest before the door closed once again.

He was shocked to see scars marking his skin. Some were old but others were clearly still healing. John felt sympathy as well as a sudden sense of kinship well up inside him. Someone had done a number on Sherlock and John knew what it was like to bear the scars of past pain both physical and emotional.

Sherlock stepped out of the fitting room looking good enough to eat. The suit fit perfectly.

“How does it feel,” John asked.

Sherlock flexed his shoulders and beheld himself in the mirror. “It will do,” he said curtly. “Until the bespoke suits are completed,” Sherlock said, then sighed to himself.

John found himself asking, “Are you alright, Sherlock? You look exhausted.”

“I’m fine,” Sherlock replied. “I simply haven’t been sleeping well.”

_Ah, nightmares_ , John thought. It was a guess but a good one; he’d suffered from those himself fairly often in the past. Therapy and time had helped and they happened rarely these days. He wondered where Sherlock had been and what exactly he had been through. _Is anyone helping him_ , he wondered.

John knew he was suffering. He sensed he and Sherlock had more in common than he’d ever imagined. He hesitated, _should I ask?_ he wondered. Sherlock might not welcome his intrusion but he knew he could help.

Deciding it was worth the risk of angering Sherlock he ventured to ask, “Would you like to talk about it? I have some experience with not being able to sleep. Is it nightmares?”

Sherlock appeared to be startled by the question. For a couple of seconds, John thought he might answer and then his face went blank. “I appreciate the offer,” he said stiffly, “but I don’t wish to discuss my feelings.” He said ‘feelings’ as if it were a dirty word.

“Well, the offer stands,” John said. “I’ve seen your website. I know you’ve probably deduced my PTSD. It’s probably in the way I tie my shoes or something.”

To his surprise Sherlock smiled. “Actually it the way you knot your tie,” he said with an air of imparting great wisdom, and John laughed in wonder. Was Sherlock teasing him? John was delighted.

“That’s good to know,” he said. “Someday you’ll have to tell me how you do it.”

“It is only a simple observation. Most people see but they don't observe,” Sherlock replied.

“Well I still think it’s incredible,” John said sincerely. “Are you ready to move on to the next measurement session?”

John picked up his notebook and the measuring tape. He strove to be professional but he had to admit being so close to Sherlock felt good. He took his time and made sure he had all the measurements correct. He’d hate to have to redo them. He made sure to adjust the measurements on the trousers to ensure a smooth fit. Much to his amazement, Sherlock was patient and stood still. He seemed the type to fidget and complain about being bored.

When he was satisfied, he had what he needed. He stepped away from Sherlock somewhat reluctantly and began to pack up his things.

“I’m all done for now,” he said. “I won’t need you again until after the pieces are cut. I will begin on the first suit immediately. We will need to set up another appointment in a few weeks.” John felt a surge of disappointment that he wouldn’t see Sherlock for such a long time. “Do you want to make that appointment now?”

Sherlock didn’t seem surprised but John was certain he saw a flash of matching disappointment in his eyes. “Ye-,” Sherlock began, only to be cut off by his mobile beeping. He walked over to his coat and pulled out his phone. He read the screen and suddenly there was an air of excitement about him. “I’m sorry, I have to go. I’ve got a case. Lestrade is finally asking for my help.”

“Lestrade?” John couldn’t help but ask curiously.

“He’s an Inspector with Scotland Yard. Must dash. I’ll text you.”

“Wait,” John said, “you don’t have my number.”

“I can get it, later. There’s no time to waste. The game is on, John,” he exclaimed. The anticipation was evident in his voice. He snatched up his coat and was gone in a whirlwind of motion.

“Wait your other su-,” John started to call out, then realised he was too late. _What had just happened? What game?_ John thought in bewilderment. Life around Sherlock was certainly not boring.

John felt a bit disappointed as he stared at the closed door. He wished he could have accompanied Sherlock. _Don’t be daft_ , he told himself firmly. Plainly, Sherlock didn’t need or want his help.

Suddenly the door opened again and Sherlock leaned around the door to glance at him. “Would you like to come with me? Lestrade might have something interesting. More likely I’ll have the case solved in five minutes. Scotland Yard is, after all, full of idiots. Either way, you can observe my methods, if you like?” His mask slipped and John glimpsed the vulnerability behind the request. He wasn’t sure if John would say yes or not.

John thought quickly, his disappointment already forgotten. He really shouldn’t close the shop, couldn’t afford to honestly, but he wanted to watch Sherlock work. He didn't have any other appointments today. What could it hurt? He felt excitement run up his spine at the thought. He couldn’t resist the lure of Sherlock. Before he could change his mind, he nodded. After asking Sherlock to wait, he quickly locked up and they were off.

Sherlock was able to hail a cab with an ease that made John a bit envious. On the way to the crime scene, John was treated to a few deductions about his family. He was amused and a bit chuffed to be able to prove Sherlock wrong when he incorrectly deduced the gender of his sibling.

To his credit, Sherlock didn’t seem all that upset at being wrong, only a bit frustrated. “It’s always something,” John heard him mutter to himself. When they arrived, they got out of the cab and John followed Sherlock into a large office building.

****

Chief Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade glanced up as the lift doors opened and Sherlock burst onto the crime scene with his usual enthusiasm. The murder had taken place in a large shared office space. The victim was a researcher who worked for a prominent pharmaceutical company. Greg was already feeling pressure from his bosses to get their murderer as quickly as possible. He’d called in Sherlock. He might be an insensitive berk most of the time, but he got the job done faster than anyone else.

Greg was so lost in his thoughts it took him far longer than it should have to realise that there was a man standing right behind Sherlock, peering around curiously. Sherlock made a beeline for the body and began his examination. In minutes he was rattling of rapid fire deductions while the short man in the suit ooh-ed and ahh-ed appreciatively.

Greg considered Sherlock, confused. He wasn’t usually so vocal about his deductions. He also gave the impression of wanting his companion’s approval. It was more than a bit odd. Then it dawned on him. Sherlock was showing off for the stranger. He cared about the man’s opinion.

Greg was shocked. He had never seen Sherlock actively seek anyone else's approval. He couldn’t bring himself to believe what he was seeing. He glanced over at Donovan, who was watching the show with her usual derision, albeit not as strong as it once would have been. She no longer hated Sherlock, but she still didn’t have any patience for his antics.

With a tired sigh Greg made his way over to the body. The man was sitting in his chair slumped over his desk. His throat had been cut and there was a pool of blood surrounding him on the desk.

“Amazing,” the blond man was saying as Greg got close enough to overhear.

Sherlock nodded, acknowledging his presence. “Ah, Lestrade. I thought you said this case was interesting. I told you I’m not interested in anything below a seven. This case is a two at most. Lucky for you this hasn’t been a completely wasted trip as it has provided John with an opportunity to observe my methods.”

_You mean an opportunity for you to show off like a peacock fanning his feathers_ , Greg thought amused despite his irritation with Sherlock.

 “John?” he asked pointedly. The stranger was staring at Sherlock like he was the most fantastic thing he’d ever seen. Not exactly subtle, was he.

“Oh, yes,” the man said, obviously a bit flustered. “John Watson, nice to meet you. I hope it’s alright for me to be here. Sherlock didn’t seem to think you’d mind.” He looked at Greg hopefully.

Greg knew the man wasn’t supposed to be here, but he was too exhausted to protest. He admitted to himself that it was good to see Sherlock acting more his usual self. Greg had been worried about him since his return from the dead.

“You can stay, just don’t touch anything. How do you know Sherlock?” he asked curiously.

“I’m his tailor,” John said with a grin. Greg started, well and truly gobsmacked. He opened his mouth and then shook his head. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“Run me through what happened then,” was all he said.

Sherlock sighed. “It’s so obvious,” he said. Greg glared at him and with a huff Sherlock complied.

Sherlock was typically overdramatic about his delivery, Greg fought the urge to roll his eyes at his antics. However, he smiled inwardly, happy to see Sherlock enjoying himself so much. The victim, Caleb Waterman, had accidently discovered that his boss had been embezzling from the company. He had gathered evidence of his boss’ crimes and was about to expose him. Before he could his boss found out, and in a panic killed him with a craft knife, of all things.

“The evidence should be easy enough to track down, of course,” Sherlock finished. He turned to look at John who beamed at him like an idiot.

After he was finished with his recitation, Sherlock turned as if to leave with John at his side but Greg stopped him and reminded him he was not allowed to run off anymore. He had to help the police find enough evidence to convict the criminals. It was part of the new official deal he had with New Scotland Yard. Sherlock grumbled but agreed. He couldn’t risk his cases.

Greg watched as the two men walked away to find a cab. They made a strange pair but it was obvious to anyone who saw them together that there was a strong connection between them.

****

Sherlock reluctantly agreed to go to Scotland Yard to give his statement and help Lestrade get his evidence. Deadly boring, but necessary if he wanted more cases.

As the cab wormed its way through London traffic, on the way to Scotland Yard, the case was already almost entirely forgotten. He knew exactly where to find the evidence Lestrade needed. He only had to point the idiots in the right direction. Sherlock’s thoughts stayed on John. He’d said goodbye to John, agreeing to call him and set up their next appointment soon.

By all appearances John had been genuinely thrilled by the night’s events. Despite the evidence, Sherlock couldn’t quite believe it. No one had ever been happy to spend time with him before. He’d felt a reluctance to leave John’s side that felt new and uncomfortable. He didn’t usually crave the presence of others. John hadn't even tried to hide his amazement at his deductions. He’d gotten a warm feeling at his effusive praise.

His tailor had been on his mind often over the last few days. John was still a puzzle, but Sherlock was beginning to make headway figuring him out.

When John had offered to talk about his nightmares during their last session, Sherlock could admit he had been tempted to confide in him, an unexpected impulse on his part. He didn’t confide in others. He was also somewhat impressed by the man’s deductive reasoning in figuring out the reasons for his tiredness. It was a simple deduction of course, but nonetheless John showed promise. This pleased Sherlock to an alarming degree. Much to his amazement Sherlock wanted to see John again as often as possible.

What was happening to him? Sherlock felt he might never been done learning about John or tire of trying to figure him out. Rather than frustrating him, the idea was exhilarating. He could spend the rest of his life getting to know him.

That thought did give him pause; it was unanticipated to say the least. Sherlock would need to give this more thought, but for now he locked it up in his mind palace and marked it for further study; he had work to do.

****

A week later, John was having no luck finding Sherlock his coat. EBay had been a waste of time. He had also checked a couple of other sites and sent out some emails. He was waiting to hear back from a couple of contacts. He was frustrated. He didn’t want to let Sherlock down.

Watching Sherlock work had been so amazing. He wanted to impress the man with his own coat finding skills. John snorted at his own ridiculousness. He was acting like a teenager with a crush. When had Sherlock’s opinion become so important?

For a moment he allowed himself to remember the exhilaration of watching Sherlock work. He had always appreciated intelligence but on Sherlock it was a whole new level of sexy. With a sigh, he deliberately turned his mind to other things.

He’d started working on a display when he was startled to hear the bell above his door chiming somewhat wildly. Whoever had opened the door was in a hurry. He looked toward the door. He was shocked to see a dishevelled and harried Sherlock walking briskly toward him.

“John,” he said, “do you have a back door? I am being followed by some unpleasant individuals.”

“Followed?” John asked. “Why are you being followed?”

“I took on a new case. I assumed it would be simple but it suddenly got more dangerous and interesting.” 

_Bloody hell_ , John thought. In spite of himself, felt a surge of excitement. “How dangerous?” he asked.

“Hmm, very,” Sherlock replied. “You are excited by the prospect of danger.”

He focused that intense gaze on him. “You were a soldier, and a doctor. You are familiar with ways to incapacitate others.”

“Yes,” John replied. He could see where this was going and he wasn’t sure he should be agreeing to it. “I try to stay in shape but it’s been a long time,” John admitted.

“Nonsense,” Sherlock replied. “I will lead them in here. You handle the shorter one and I’ll take the other.”

Against his better judgement John agreed. He couldn’t deny the rush of excitement he felt at the prospect of fighting some bad guys.

Sherlock left, presumably to lure in the criminals, and John quickly got ready. He went to the back room and clutched his old walking stick in a tight grip. He hadn’t had to use it in some time but it was sturdy and hard.

John thought fondly of the gun he had hidden at home. He didn’t bring it to work because he’d assumed he'd never need it. Besides, it was dangerous. He was confident in his ability to fight.

Sherlock walked back in and pointed behind himself. “They are right behind me,” he whispered.

John nodded. A couple of minutes later, two men entered the shop. The first was tall and broad. John assessed him with a professional eye and estimated he weighed at least two hundred pounds. The other was short and stocky, similar to John in build.

The two men passed inside the door, but before they could react Sherlock moved forward and executed a seamless martial arts move. John didn’t know what kind. It knocked the big man of balance. After that, John didn’t see anymore because he was busy dealing with his own villain.

The man John was fighting had a knife. He lashed out at John wildly. Clearly he wasn’t a trained fighter. John had a definite advantage. John jumped back and he struck him with his cane, knocking the knife away. Once the knife was gone he was able to get close enough to knock the man out.

He turned in a sudden panic, _is Sherlock alright?_ He was relieved to see that he had managed to knock the other man out as well. Thinking quickly, John took a couple of ties and secured the two men. Meanwhile, Sherlock called the police.

He was still breathing heavily but he felt better than he had in a long time. “Sherlock,” he asked, “What is going on? Who are these men?”

“Simple robbers, nothing more,” Sherlock replied. “I agreed to take on Lestrade’s latest case as a favour and to stave of my boredom. I quickly realised it was a robbery gone wrong. I was checking out their hideout when I was accidentally seen. Luckily we were nearby and I knew you had the skill and the inclination to help me.”

John felt alarm at the idea of Sherlock running into danger all alone but he was also glad Sherlock had decided to ask him for help. Surely it meant Sherlock thought of him as more than just his tailor. He smiled at Sherlock and let his pleasure at the thought show on his face.

“I’m glad you knew you could come to me,” he said.

Sherlock seemed faintly embarrassed but he nodded. “I knew I could trust you,” he said and then gave him a brilliant smile. It made John’s heart stutter in his chest. He couldn’t help but smile back. They gazed at one another, until the police burst into his shop breaking the moment.

****

John arrived home late that night. Talking to the police had taken longer than he thought. Although, he supposed, perhaps Lestrade had helped speed the process along as best he could. Adrenaline still pumped in his veins. It had been a long time since he had such fun.

When his day had started he’d never imagined he would help Sherlock fight criminals. He had enjoyed it a great deal. He was gratified to know he could still handle himself in a fight and that civilian life hadn’t made him completely soft.

He'd missed the feel of blood rushing through his veins. He’d forgotten how good it felt to take action. He’d only felt half alive since he’d been discharged and subsequently given up being a surgeon. He’d also enjoyed the long lost feeling of helping others and saving lives, doing something for the greater good.

His mind focused on Sherlock again, as it seemed wont to do these days. He couldn’t wait until he had finished Sherlock’s first suit. The idea of seeing the gorgeous, fascinating detective in one of his handmade suits sent a spike of arousal through him. In minutes he was hard.

John hesitated. It had been a long time since he’d fantasised about a specific person. He sensed that if he allowed himself this indulgence, he would be opening a door he wasn’t sure he could close again.

A fantasy began to unfold in John’s mind. He tried to fight the urge, but then he surrendered to it. What could it hurt? He removed his trousers, and reached into his underwear, grasping his own cock. He imagined seeing that beautiful body clothed in articles he’d made with his own hands. He’d make sure that all of Sherlock's assets where displayed to their best advantage, but he would be the only one allowed to touch. John felt a surge of possessiveness rise in him at the thought. Sherlock would be his alone, and hopefully he’d be Sherlock’s

First he’d push Sherlock’s suit jacket off his shoulders revealing that gorgeous purple shirt that hung on Sherlock’s body perfectly. He’d slowly unbutton the shirt and rain kisses on the skin that was being exposed. Sherlock would be trembling with desire. Desire for John.

John’s hand sped up as his need increased. He imagined running his hand down along Sherlock's body. Slowly, teasing, until Sherlock was desperate with desire. When finally he reached his cock, Sherlock was already rock hard for him and John rubbed him roughly through his trousers, enjoying the heat and the way Sherlock’s cock felt in his hand, even through his trousers. Sherlock gasped and move his hips forward silently asking for more friction. Sherlock’s beautiful eyes begged for release that only John could give.

“What do you want?” he would whisper to Sherlock.

“I need to come, please,” Sherlock begged him, his intense blue eyes focused on John.

John slowly unzipped Sherlock’s trousers and saw that Sherlock wasn’t wearing pants. He pulled out Sherlock's cock. He grasped it firmly and began to stroke quickly, finding a rhythm, occasionally rubbing over the tip.

Sherlock would make the most amazing sounds, little whimpers and soft gasps as John got him off. He ran his finger over the tip of his cock and, with a final moan, the Sherlock in his mind came all over John’s hand, crying out John’s name as he climaxed.

With one last tug, John came as well. John lay there for several minutes keeping his eyes closed. Letting himself enjoy the best wank he’d had in a long time. Then he got up and cleaned himself off. He crawled into bed and tried not to think of the mess he was going to get himself into, but he couldn’t completely suppress his excitement at the idea of seeing Sherlock again.

****

The next morning, Sherlock was up early. He’d slept five hours and for the first time in a long time he’d had no nightmares.

Sherlock didn’t like to waste time thinking about his own emotions. Before he went away he would have said he didn’t have any. He could admit, at least within the privacy of his own mind that since his return things had not been the same. The emotions he claimed not to have, refused to be denied or locked away in his mind palace. Then John had entered his life, bringing Sherlock more peace and contentment than he’d had in a long time.

He’d had much more sleep than he needed and he felt refreshed. His mind palace was filled with John. He had diligently catalogued all the new information he had learnt. Soon he would have to give John his own room. The idea pleased him immensely.

It was clear John was becoming important to him, but he wasn't sure what further steps he should take. He had never tried to woo anyone before. He didn’t know how, and he wasn’t even sure if he wanted a relationship with his tailor. He didn’t know enough to proceed. It was extremely annoying. He needed advice as much as he hated to admit it.

For John, he would swallow his pride and ask for help. _But who to ask?_ Sherlock wondered. Not Mrs. Hudson, obviously. He did not want to hear about her sexual escapades with her former husband yet again. They had been difficult enough to delete the first time.

Next he considered Molly but quickly decided against asking her. Molly had proven herself to be a strong and competent ally but her feelings for him could make things awkward for both of them. He had no wish to hurt her.

That left Lestrade. Lestrade had been married and he wasn’t entirely stupid. He was a normal person with regular, everyday interests. Sex and romance were surely among them. He decided he had to talk to Lestrade. Surely Lestrade would be able to give him advice about something as mundane as romance.

After his morning tea, that was waiting for him as usual, thanks to Mrs. Hudson – _not as good as John’s,_ he thought – he got dressed in one of John’s suits and texted the inspector to ascertain his whereabouts. While he waited for a reply, he did some research on dating.

The information available was at best romantic drivel. It was all terribly unspecific and contradictory. How did normal people ever manage to procreate if this is what they had to work with?

They all seemed to agree it was important to spend time with the person you wanted and to get to know them. Apparently this would tell him whether or not he and John were compatible. Well, spending time with John was usually pleasant, but how could he convince John to spend more time with him?

Sherlock sighed. This indecision was intolerable. What had happened? How did he let himself begin to need another person? He didn’t want to let John go. He needed advice, immediately. Rather than wait for Lestrade, he decided to go in search of him.

He left 221b determined to get some answers. He hailed a cab and directed it to take him to Scotland Yard. The inspector could most often be found there.

Sherlock did indeed find Lestrade sitting at his desk. Sherlock noticed his eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep. He had obviously never gone home the night before. He burst into Lestrade’s office without knocking, startling the man so badly he practically jumped out of his seat.

“Lestrade, I need your advice. I have a problem and I’m afraid that despite my best efforts I am lacking in certain information to help me solve the problem.”

Lestrade stared at him in weary annoyance. “Hello to you too, Sherlock, and did you actually admit to not knowing something? Did it hurt?”

“Lestrade!” Sherlock exclaimed. “I don’t have time for your usual stupidity today. I have some serious questions to ask you. It is paramount that you think before answering.”

Lestrade seemed to focus on Sherlock for the first time. His eyes were tired but Sherlock saw his alertness increase with his interest in what Sherlock was saying. “Alright, Sherlock, I’m listening,” he said, leaning back in his chair.

“I wish to ask, how can I tell if I want to enter into a relationship with someone?”

Lestrade started in disbelief for the second time in minutes and said incredulously, “Are you asking me how to know if you want to date someone?”

“Yes, Lestrade, that is exactly what I said. Do try to keep up.”

Lestrade seemed to need time to gather his thoughts. So typical. Still, Sherlock needed a favour, and he knew he would get more from Lestrade if he attempted to be patient.

Lestrade finally spoke. “Who would date you?” he blurted out.

Sherlock felt his whole body stiffen at the question. “That,” he said coldly, “is none of your business. Please answer my question.”

Lestrade expression turned apologetic. “Sherlock- Mate, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I was surprised that’s all. Well, if you want to know if someone is right for you, the best thing to do is to get to know them. Do you like spending time with them? Share their interests? See if the two of you get along. Communication is important too. If they seem like they like you, too, move on to dinner and maybe gifts.”

“Gifts?” Sherlock asked.

“Yes, the usual things would be flowers or chocolate.”

Sherlock frowned. He couldn’t imagine giving John something as mundane as chocolate. However, he found he quite liked the idea of making John happy. Lestrade cleared his throat and Sherlock realised he’d been quiet for several minutes.

“Is that all the advice you have to give?” he inquired. “I gathered as much from inane online dating sites.”

Lestrade snorted. “The advice might seem simple but I promise you it works. Well, if it were anyone else I’d encourage them to simply be themselves, but that seems dangerous in your case, so I think the best advice I can give is to try to be pleasant and listen to this person. Everyone likes to feel they are being heard and accepted. Also, if this person has more experience than you, follow their lead or better yet, talk to them instead of me. Tell them how you feel.”

He hesitated and then he visibly gathered his courage and continued. “I don’t want to pry, but physical attraction is very important, on both sides. Are you attracted to this person and is it mutual? Please don't tell me,” he added hurriedly. “Just think about it.” 

Then Lestrade seemed to come to a realisation. “Wait, is this about that man that was with you the other night? The tailor who followed you around like a puppy. What was his name? John something?” 

“Watson,” Sherlock couldn’t help but interject.

Lestrade smiled. There was a bit of triumph in it but also genuine pleasure. “He seemed like a nice enough bloke and he seems to like you a great deal. Get to know him, find out what he likes and what his interests are. That should be easy enough for you. I wish you both luck. John especially, he’ll need it.”

Sherlock nodded and left without another word.

“You’re welcome,” Lestrade called after him but Sherlock had already left him far behind.

Sherlock dismissed the idea of talking to John for the time being. He didn’t need to think much about his course of action. Based on what he had learned, he now knew he desired a relationship with John. The evidence suggested John might feel the same but Sherlock couldn’t be sure. John was clearly attracted to him. Did his feelings run deeper?

Sherlock hated his current uncertainty. He wanted to pull his hair in frustration or smoke an entire pack of cigarettes. Only the thought of John’s disappointment stopped him. Upsetting John would be counterproductive. There were too many unknown variables. He needed more information and spending time with John wouldn’t be a hardship. He had a lot of planning to do if he was going to convince his tailor to give a relationship between them a fair chance.

****

The next evening, as John was leaving the shop, a large black car approached the kerb next to him. The door opened and a professional and elegant woman stepped out. She was wearing a stylish black suit and black pumps. She was looking down at the phone in her hand and only glanced up long enough to say “Dr. Watson, please get in. My employer wishes to speak to you.”

“I’m not a doctor anymore,” John protested. “Who is your employer and what could they possibly want from me?” he asked.

The younger woman raised an eyebrow. She reminded him a little bit of Sherlock. He considered her and he could see the intelligence sparking behind her eyes.

“Please get in, doctor. You don’t want to cause a scene,” she said politely but insistently. John didn’t miss the emphasis on the word _doctor_ either.

John sighed. The lady seemed determined and he couldn’t deny he was curious. He remembered how good the rush of adrenaline he’d experienced with Sherlock had felt. John had to admit he already missed the feeling of danger and excitement. 

Abruptly, he decided to see where this led him and see what this mysterious employerwanted with him. He walked over and got in the back seat. The assistant followed, getting in on the other side. They rode in silence. The woman was attractive but John didn’t feel inclined to talk. He was only interested in flirting with tall curly-haired detectives it seemed. Besides, from the way she was ignoring him in favour of her phone, she wouldn’t have been interested anyway. 

They drove for a while and finally stopped outside a large building. John realised it was a warehouse. As they walked inside, it became evident that it had been abandoned for some time. He followed the assistant into a large room and his eyes fell immediately upon a man sitting in a chair next to a square fold out table at the centre of the room. There was a full tea service sitting on the table and the man had a cup of tea in his hand. By his side was an umbrella, propped up against his chair. There was another chair empty next to the man.

The man stood, and John got a good look at what he was wearing. An expensive suit, bespoke, John was certain. It was well made. John appreciated quality work, but the lines weren’t quite right. The fit was a little tight. Perhaps the stranger had recently gained some weight. John also believed the man could benefit from a slightly different style of jacket, but he decided to keep that to himself.

He didn’t miss the aura of power surrounding the man. Only a fool would underestimate him. John needed more information, but he decided to allow his kidnapper to make the first move.

The man studied him silently with intense blue eyes. He gave the impression of cataloguing and taking John apart in an unexpectedly familiar manner. The difference being that John didn’t find it nearly as pleasant an experience as when Sherlock did it. Despite his discomfort, John watched silently and intently in return. He was careful not to let anything show on his face. Years of dealing with clients had turned him into a pretty good actor.

His kidnapper finally deigned to speak. “Ah, Dr. Watson, please have a seat. Would you care for some tea?” he asked with a slight smirk, although it was asked cordially enough.

Being addressed as _Doctor_ by this man, in such a superior tone, grated on John’s nerves. He made sure to hide his annoyance. This man had better talk fast. 

John pretended to debate his options and then walked over and took a seat. He accepted a cup of tea with a quiet, ‘thank you,’ and then waited for the man in the suit to speak again.

“Dr. Watson, do you have any idea why I brought you here?” the man asked.

“No clue,” John admitted, “but I bet it’s going to be interesting. Why don’t you tell me?”

The man took a sip of his tea and then set his cup down carefully before speaking. “We have a mutual acquaintance.”

“Really, and who would that be?” John enquired dryly. He hoped his curiosity did not show.

“Sherlock Holmes,” the man replied drawing out the syllables in the name.

John was more shocked by this than he maybe should have been. He admitted to himself he probably should have realised. His life was nothing if not interesting since meeting Sherlock. “What about him?” he asked casually.

“I am aware he is one of your clients. I admit I wasn’t happy when he chose you but I decided not to make an issue of it. However, I was disconcerted when I received reports that you aided him in chasing down two criminals with whom the two of you engaged in a brawl. I must insist, doctor, that you stop encouraging his unseemly and dangerous behaviour immediately.” 

John wanted to roll his eyes at the exaggeration. He hadn’t chased down anyone. “How is what Sherlock and I do together any of your concern?” John asked. “Besides,” he added with a smirk, “you seem like a man that appreciates a good tailor? The suit is a bit tight though. I’d be happy to let it out for you.” 

His kidnapper lost his superior expression as he frowned at him but didn’t take the bait. John still considered it a win. 

The mysterious stranger continued, “Everything about him concerns me. I worry about him _constantly_. I can make ending your association with him quite worthwhile.”

John felt a burst of anger at the insufferable man’s words. As if he would ever betray Sherlock. Outwardly he kept calm. “Are you actually trying to bribe me? The answer is no. Can I go before this gets even more awkward?”

On the surface, the man gave the appearance of being unruffled by his refusal although John noticed his expression tightened a bit and his posture stiffened slightly.

“If money doesn’t interest you I have something else that might. You have a new business. I can provide you with the one thing every business needs: clients. I can point several wealthy and important clients in your direction. You’d never have to worry about money again. Is your association with Sherlock Holmes really more important to you than a thriving business? All your dreams could come true.” The man watched him intently, waiting for his response. 

John went from angry to furious in a split second but he forced himself to take a deep calming breath as he stood up. Over the last few years he had learnt not to let his temper get the better of him. “Absolutely not, you self-righteous arsehole,” John ground out. “I’m leaving now. Thanks for the tea and the interesting conversation. Oh, and in the future _Mister_ Watson will do just fine.”

He turned to walk out, but the man called out to him to stop. John turned.

“Sherlock Holmes is very important to me. If I cannot convince you to leave him alone then I must warn you. He has not had an easy time of it the last few years. He is in-” the man paused, “a _delicate_ state. Please do be careful with him. He is vulnerable, although he will not show it.”

John nodded and wondered once again where Sherlock had been during his time away. “I will,” he assured the man and continued on his way. He had an idea who his mysterious kidnapper might be.

“I’ll be watching,” the man called after him. There was both a promise and a warning in his words. John didn’t bother to acknowledge them.

****

John heard from Sherlock several times over the coming days. He got texts at all hours, often with strange questions. Sometimes the questions were about fabrics and others were medical in nature. John had asked if they were for a case. Sherlock replied that some were, but that he also did experiments. John still wasn't sure if he wanted to know what that meant or not.

Sherlock still appeared disbelieving when John complimented him or said kind things. It made John’s heart ache for him. It was obvious that he didn’t have many friends. It was a shame no one had ever taken the time to see past his arrogant and difficult manner to the person underneath.

One night, Sherlock had awoken him at three a.m. to ask obscure questions about different types of wool blends. John hadn’t exactly been pleased to be woken up in the middle of the night. Annoyingly, Sherlock hadn’t listened. Still, John couldn’t deny he’d enjoyed being sought out for his expertise. He’d later been informed that his answers had been the key to solving a complex case, something about a matchbox. Sherlock really hadn’t been making much sense. John had decided not to ask.

Sherlock had also shown up at the shop randomly. Mostly he watched John. Or demanded John make him tea. As far as John could tell Sherlock happily lived on nothing but tea and biscuits. John was somewhat concerned but he didn’t feel it was his place to comment on Sherlock’s eating habits. When John asked what he was doing, all Sherlock would say was that he needed more data. Amused, John let him do as he liked, as long as he didn’t get in the way of John’s business.

Truth was, he appreciated the company, and Sherlock had a lot of interesting stories to tell. Although, if John ever heard another word about tobacco ash it would be too soon. Since Sherlock was hanging around, John took the opportunity to try to convince him to try a grey suit as well. Sherlock reluctantly agreed. Sherlock had actually blushed a little at John’s enthusiasm which John found appealing.

He has also tried to talk to Sherlock about his nightmares, but the man had completely shut down. It was like he turned to ice. John had been a little shocked at the strength of his negative response. John had backed down.

He knew Sherlock was suffering from some trauma and needed help. John was determined that he get it but he also knew from his own past experiences that pushing too hard wouldn’t get him anywhere. It had taken John almost a year before he had acknowledged that he needed help and had really begun working with his therapist. He was in a much better place now but it had taken a lot of hard work. _Baby steps_ , he told himself. _He's beginning to trust you. Eventually he’ll open up._

When he wasn’t talking to Sherlock, he was thinking about Sherlock. He suspected Sherlock might be lonely. Now that he had someone to talk to regularly, John could admit that he had been lonely as well. Learning a new trade and then starting a new business hadn’t left much time for socialising.

Despite the uncertainty, the more he learnt about Sherlock the more he liked him. He hoped they were becoming friends. He couldn’t help hoping that a friendship would lead to more. If only he could be certain that Sherlock felt the same way. 

They had the first fitting for the bespoke suit scheduled for three weeks from now. Perhaps by then he would be able to tell. Maybe he’d even work up the courage to make the first move. 

He had also decided not to mention his kidnapping. He suspected his kidnapper might be Sherlock’s mysterious brother. Sherlock mentioned him on occasion, usually in extremely unflattering terms. 

His business had also been decent and he suspected that he might have Sherlock to thank for that. He hadn’t asked, but many of his new clients had mentioned that Sherlock had helped them in the past. He now had several bankers, business men and government officials as clients.

John was somewhat annoyed at the high handedness. He was going to ask Sherlock to stop. Sherlock hadn't even seen his final work yet. He didn’t mind the praise but he wanted it to be based on his work. It was a matter of professional pride.

But despite this, he hoped Sherlock was trying to show him that he cared about John in his own way. Truthfully, having the genius pay him so much attention gave him a giddy feeling.

****

Sherlock arrived for his first fitting early. He couldn’t deny the thrill he felt at the thought of seeing his tailor again. He felt arousal shiver up his spine as he imagined John’s hands on him again. His touch was so certain and competent.

Sherlock knew that John was attracted to him and for once he didn’t find another person's emotions and attraction to him annoying at all. He craved John’s attention and his contributions to Sherlock’s cases had been stimulating. John’s input was becoming invaluable.

He was beginning to need John. Sherlock hadn’t needed anything or anyone until now; it left him feeling unbalanced and uncertain, two emotions Sherlock hated. Despite his uncertainty, he was determined to continue on this path. Once he made a decision he rarely changed his mind. He would have John for his own.

He walked into the shop and was greeted by John’s bright smile. He felt his heart flip in his chest. He tried to stomp down on the feeling but wasn’t entirely successful.

“Hello,” John said. “I’m happy to see you.”

“Hello, John,” Sherlock replied. He paused. “I return your sentiment.”

John walked over to him and for an instant he appeared uncertain. “Before we get started I’d like to talk to you about something.”

Sherlock nodded, encouraging John to continue.

“I’ve noticed a significant increase in my business. Several of these people seem to know you. Is this your doing?”

Sherlock felt uncertain. Was John unhappy with all the new clients? That was the opposite of Sherlock’s predicted outcome of his actions. He was supposed to be making John happy.  “Yes, it is my doing. Is something wrong?” he couldn’t help but be a bit defensive.

John hesitated, picking out his words with care. “It’s a kind gesture, Sherlock, but it’s really too much. You don’t even know if you’ll be happy with my final work on your bespoke suits.”

Sherlock felt himself growing angry. He wasn’t sure if it was with John or himself. For once he had tried to put another one’s feelings before his own and apparently it had backfired spectacularly. He felt himself going cold and calm.

He stared at John directly in the eye. “I’m sorry you feel so ill used by my attempt to assist your business. I can assure you it will not happen again.”

John glanced apologetically at him. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I do appreciate all the effort you must have put in on my behalf. Only, I want to be able to stand on my own two feet and on the strength of my work. I’ll tell you what, after we are done with your first bespoke suit, if you’re happy with it, feel free to tell whomever you like.” He smiled uncertainly. When Sherlock didn’t respond, he ventured quietly, “Are you ready to get started?”

Sherlock’s couldn’t bring himself to meet John’s eyes. “Actually, I’ve remembered somewhere I need to be. I must be going now.”

“Wait, Sherlock,” John called after him, but Sherlock ignored him, walking out the door.

He didn’t let himself look back.

****

Greg sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Sherlock was in a rare form tonight, insulting everyone in sight, terrorising the crime scene techs. He’d even made a witness cry. In truth, he had been out of sorts all week. It had been a bloody nightmare. He hadn’t seen Sherlock like this in a long time and he was going to have to put a stop to it or he’d have to throw Sherlock off the case. He didn’t have time for this. He wasn’t a bloody babysitter or a therapist. Still, he considered Sherlock a friend.

He pulled the man aside and glared at him. “Alright, out with it. What has you in such a state?” he demanded.

“What concern is it of yours?” Sherlock asked belligerently.

“It’s my concern when you come onto my crime scene and act like a three year old having a tantrum. This isn't like you anymore. Seriously, what is going on?”

Sherlock got a sulky expression on his face. “John and I had a disagreement,” he said.

Greg gaped at him incredulously. “Are you telling me this is all because you had a fight with your boyfriend?” he asked.

“He’s not my boyfriend.” Sherlock wouldn’t meet his eyes. _But you want him to be_ , Greg thought.

Sherlock continued, “My gift to him wasn’t as well received as I hoped. I may have overreacted.”

Greg softened at this _. Sherlock really did have the emotional range of a child sometimes, or maybe a teenager_ , Greg thought somewhat amused. It was hardly shocking Sherlock didn't care about many people. It said a lot that the younger man was even willing to discuss this with him.

He sighed and he reached out and patted Sherlock on the shoulder. “It sounds like you regret it. John probably feels the same. Couples have stupid fights sometimes. Go talk to him, and for God’s sake, ask him out on a date.”

“Do you think so?” Sherlock asked hopefully. Greg indicated that he did. Sherlock nodded, a determined expression on his face, and turned quickly toward the door.

“Sherlock, wait-the case!” Greg called after him.

Typically, Sherlock waved him away without turning around. “I have all the information I need for now. I’ll text you my conclusions.” With that he was gone.

Greg sighed in frustration and turned back to his crime scene, even as he wished his friend luck.

****

Sherlock left Lestrade behind without a second thought. A thick fog had descended over the city. For once, no cabs stopped for him. He sighed in impatience and tried to decide on the appropriate course of action. He had to get to John as quickly as possible.

John only lived a mile or so away and Sherlock knew a few shortcuts between here and John’s place. It wouldn’t take him that long to get there on foot. He began walking hurriedly, excited to see John and for perhaps the only time in his life, eager to apologise. Sherlock had regretted their argument almost immediately.

He admitted to himself that he’d overreacted and he respected John’s desire to let his best work speak for him. He hadn’t been ungrateful; John had merely felt the praise was premature. Sherlock did understand the need for his talents to be appreciated fully and on its own merits.

After all, few people had ever appreciated his own talents and even then most had merely tolerated him solely for his deductive skills, until John had come along. Sherlock began walking faster. As soon as he reached John he would apologise and ask John to dinner.

If he didn’t acquiesce immediately, Sherlock would convince him. He knew he needed John in his life and he thought John felt the same way. They were good for one another. John already understood him better than anyone ever had. Surely, he would forgive him.

He began making a series of contingency plans so he wouldn’t be caught unprepared. He was caught up in his strategies as he took a shortcut down a dark side street. It was a route he knew well from all the times he spent running around London. He didn’t really need to waste much of his mental energy on where he was going. He was so distracted that he did not see the two men waiting to mug him until it was too late.

****

John was miserable. He hadn’t seen or heard from Sherlock since they’d had their ridiculous argument. It had been almost a week, and John was really afraid he’d ruined things between them because of his damn pride.

At least John had finally had some good news. He had finally found another coat exactly like Sherlock’s in a small second hand shop. He had secured the owner’s agreement not to sell it. He couldn’t wait to tell Sherlock. He hoped it could be a peace offering of sorts.

He missed the man’s company. He’d decided to swallow his pride and make the first move rather than wait for the next day. He was about to text him the good news when there was a knock at his door. He opened the door to reveal Sherlock on the other side.

“Sherlock!” he exclaimed, pleased by the unexpected visit despite their argument. “Come in. I was about to text you.” _Maybe he’s decided to forgive me too._ John thought hopefully.

Sherlock slowly made his way into the room and he slumped against John. This time, John cried out his name in alarm. He took a good look and realised how pale Sherlock was. “What’s wrong?” he demanded.

“Two gentlemen and I had a bit of a disagreement”, he said. “Unfortunately one of them made his displeasure known by stabbing me with his knife.”

“What do you mean, you’re stabbed? Let me see,” John demanded. He pushed the panic aside, going instinctively into what he thought of as his doctor mode.

He helped Sherlock over to the sofa. It worried him how much Sherlock was leaning on him. He could barely walk. How had he made it all the way up to John’s flat without help? He helped Sherlock remove his jacket and saw the blood staining the cloth of his shirt.

John got to work. He ran into the kitchen and grabbed his first aid kit. He returned to Sherlock and efficiently but cautiously cut away his blood stained clothes. He didn’t even spare a second to mourn the loss of the stunning suit Sherlock was wearing. He’d make sure it was replaced. From the way it was bleeding, John knew the wound was serious.

Sherlock needed a hospital immediately. Excessive blood loss was a real and urgent concern, but by the location it hadn't hit any organs. If Sherlock got attention quickly he would be fine. John efficiently put as much pressure on the wound as he could and then reached for his mobile from where it sat on the coffee table and rang 999.

When the operator answered, he gave him the detail and was promised an ambulance would arrive as quickly as possible. “Tell them to hurry,” John said.

He stayed on the line even as he tried to keep Sherlock awake. Blood loss was making him woozy and John was worried he might go into shock. He wished he had a blanket to wrap around his friend. He talked to Sherlock, babbling about his sister and how his mother had taught him to sew.

Despite his best efforts, Sherlock lapsed into unconsciousness. In that instant, holding Sherlock with his blood staining his hands, John knew he loved Sherlock deeply. He cursed the timing. He didn’t even know if Sherlock felt the same or if he would even be willing to give them a chance.

It felt like an eternity before he heard the paramedics arriving. It was always more difficult being on this side of things. They came running up the stairs and into John’s flat. The two paramedics quickly assessed the situation and they got Sherlock on a stretcher, John following behind. When they got to the ambulance, one of them asked John if he was family.

“I’m his doctor,” John lied easily. Nothing would keep him from Sherlock. Besides, he technically still had his medical license.

The ride to the hospital was a bit nerve wracking, as Sherlock continued to be unresponsive and his pulse was irregular. John knew how dangerous that could be. As soon as they arrived at the hospital, Sherlock was whisked away into surgery. John sat and waited, letting the guilt wash over him. If they hadn’t fought, perhaps Sherlock would have called him instead of heading off into danger alone. If he’d been there he could have stopped this from happening.

A nurse came to tell him that the knife had nicked an artery. He had suspected as much. He sat down in the waiting room. He realised he needed to call Sherlock’s brother but he didn’t even know the man’s name let alone his number. He wished he’d been able to ask Sherlock to confirm his suspicions about the identity of his kidnapper.

John was wondering if he should try to find Sherlock’s mobile, when his kidnapper himself walked purposefully into A&E.

He nodded in John’s direction and then walked over to the nurses’ desk and demanded an update on his brother be made immediately available. The hospital workers scurried to do his bidding. While he was waiting for a doctor, the man walked over to John. He still had his umbrella, John noted.

“Ah John, may I call you John? It seems you are still a doctor after all, are you not?” The man sounded almost amused but it didn’t reach his eyes.

John flushed. So the man knew he’d lied his way onto Sherlock’s ambulance. But then he squared his shoulders and met that cold gaze head on. He wasn’t sorry and he’d do it again. “Are you Sherlock’s brother?” he asked.

“Yes,” the man said, “although he would say I am his arch enemy.”

John laughed in spite of himself. _How like Sherlock_ , he thought fondly.

His brother continued, “I am Mycroft Holmes. I regret that we are meeting properly under these unfortunate circumstances.”

John snorted. “Tell me,” he said dryly, “do you kidnap all your brother’s friends?”

This time the man gave a real smile. “Only those that I think are going to have a bad effect on him. I’m glad to say I seem to have been wrong about you.” He paused, seeming hesitant to continue.

John got the sense Mycroft Holmes rarely hesitated. John leaned forward this could be important.

When Mycroft spoke again, John heard the sincerity in his tone, “Sherlock did not react well to your fight. He was on his way to see you when he was attacked.”

“Really?” John felt hope rise in his chest. “I was pretty miserable without him,” he admitted.

“Sherlock-” Mycroft paused once again as if searching for the right word, “-cares for you. He doesn’t care about many people. I hope I can consider you my ally in the constant battle to keep him safe from harm. See that you don’t hurt him, or I promise that you will regret it.”

John heard the truth and the threat in his words. He didn’t speak of his feelings, those words where for Sherlock alone.

Mr. Holmes nodded, seemingly satisfied. Finally, a few minutes later, a doctor came towards them. They had managed to stop the bleeding and repair the damage. Sherlock would be fine. John felt unshed tears stinging his eyes as he closed them in relief at the news. He didn’t allow them to fall.

****

Sherlock was in hospital for a couple of days and John was with him whenever he could manage. He went home to shower and sleep. He couldn’t afford to close his shop but he did limit his hours a bit, mostly keeping standing appointments. He spent as much time with Sherlock as he could, as he hated every moment he had to stay away.

When Sherlock finally woke up after being unconscious for almost twenty-four hours, he seemed pleased to see John. He held out his hand and John took it, squeezing gently.

“You’re alright, Sherlock,” he said. “I thought I’d lost you.” John’s voice broke.

“Me, too,” Sherlock admitted. His voice was hoarse from disuse.

“I’m sorry about that bloody stupid argument we had,” John said.

“Not your fault, I overreacted.”

“Shhh,” John said, “don’t speak. We were both idiots. Let’s forget about it. When you’re feeling better we’ll sort it all out. I’m not letting you get away.”

Sherlock gave him a small smile in response. For now, it was enough.

He got Sherlock some ice chips after he pressed the call button to let the nurses know Sherlock was awake. John was determined not to let anything stop him from being with Sherlock. If Sherlock agreed, John was all in. Now he only had to find the right time to tell him.

****

A month later, John was waiting outside his shop brimming over with excitement and anticipation when a cab pulled up in front of the door and Sherlock stepped out.

John could feel himself lighting up at the sight of him. Sherlock was wearing the grey suit he had made for him. He was absolutely gorgeous. He allowed himself a few moments of proprietary satisfaction. John had made that suit with his own two hands. It fit Sherlock perfectly.

John felt a surge of surprised pleasure as he realized Sherlock was wearing a tie. Sherlock had worn a tie−for him. John couldn’t take his eyes of him.

He couldn’t believe his luck. This handsome, amazing man wanted to go out with him. Plain old John Watson. He was so happy this night had finally arrived. It had taken them several tries and a few cancellations but it was finally happening. His schedule had suddenly opened up and then Sherlock had texted asking him he was free tonight and John, though surprised, had agreed. He only spared a second to wonder how Sherlock had known but brushed it away. It didn’t really matter. He was just thrilled to finally have dinner with Sherlock.

Sherlock’s recuperation, while not that long, had not been easy. He was able to get up and move around after about a week, as long as he was careful. However, Sherlock insisted on pushing himself too far. He was a terrible patient. He never listened, and when he didn’t get his way he sulked. Getting him to eat had been a constant battle. He didn’t seem to understand his body needed fuel so it could heal.

One rather large point of contention had been John's refusal to allow anything more intimate than hand holding, and a bit of cuddling between them. He’d wanted to wait until Sherlock had recuperated fully. Sherlock had not taken the perceived rejection well. John had known Sherlock could be difficult to get along with, but there were times when he’d wanted to smother him with a pillow. He’d almost walked out more than once but he couldn’t stand the thought of leaving Sherlock alone and in pain. He also didn’t want to leave Mrs. Hudson alone with an angry Sherlock. It didn’t help that he was still feeling some guilt about not being there for Sherlock when he was mugged.

Thankfully, Sherlock seemed to know when he’d pushed John too far and an apology usually followed. Or at least what passed for an apology with him. Sherlock had also refused to allow John to wallow. He had flat out told him to “stop being a boring imbecile”. Trust Sherlock to insult him even when he was trying to be helpful.

They had also talked a lot during Sherlock’s recovery and after. John found himself at 221b whenever he wasn’t working. Sherlock had told him what it had been like for him. Two years all alone, working to take down a huge criminal organisation almost single-handedly. He’d talked about how he got the scars and about being tortured repeatedly before his brother had finally arrived to rescue him.

Hearing how Mycroft had sat there doing nothing and watched his brother being tortured made John’s blood boil. He wasn’t sure he still wouldn’t slug the posh arsehole if he got the chance. Sherlock had even had a few nightmares and John had gotten into bed with him a few times after he had woken up screaming. John had suffered a few nightmares himself. He’d lie in the dark and listen to Sherlock breathe deeply in his sleep.

In return, John had told him how it felt to be shot in Afghanistan, about almost dying and how lost he’d been on his return. He told him about the desperation and depression that had almost consumed him before he’d met the man who’d taught him his current profession. He even told him about the psychosomatic limp he’d once had, that had slowly gone away as he got his life together.

They had become as close and intimate as two people could be in a relatively short amount of time, even without sex. John suspected that when it finally happened, the sex between them would be as amazing and intense as the rest of their relationship. He knew both he and Sherlock were impatient but he felt it was important to wait for the right time. They hadn’t even had a real date yet. He wanted it to be perfect.

Still, he had been glad that he had his own flat to return to on occasion. The glimpse of what life with Sherlock would be like had been a bit daunting but not enough to send John running. In fact, he looked forward to the challenge that life with Sherlock represented. He hadn’t felt so alive in a long time.

_God, I really am a lovesick idiot_ , John thought as Sherlock approached John with a smile on his face. They exchanged greetings and Sherlock asked if John was ready to go to dinner with him. John nodded his agreement. He was feeling overwhelmed. His heart was pounding as he got into the cab with Sherlock.

“Where are we going?” John asked.

“A little Italian place called Angelo’s. I know you like Italian and the proprietor is a friend of mine.”  Sherlock replied.

John glanced down at the suit he’d picked out off-the-rack, unfortunately. He hadn’t had time to go home and change. Luckily it was a pleasant evening and he didn’t need a coat. He hoped it was appropriate for tonight but before he could ask, Sherlock beat him to it, saying, “You look-” he paused for a moment, “striking. You might even be a bit overdressed for this place. I shall be the envy of all.”

John flushed with pleasure at the compliment. “You look amazing. I love the tie,” John said sincerely. Sherlock gave him a small but real smile in return.

When they arrived at the restaurant, they were greeted enthusiastically by a loud, large man. He cheerfully told John the improbable tale of how he had met Sherlock. John felt he should be surprised but at this point nothing much about Sherlock surprised him. John took a deep breath. Part of him had trouble believing this was really happening,

After they were seated and had ordered their food, an awkward silence fell between them. _This is ridiculous,_ thought John. They had spent so much time talking together at the shop and they’d exchanged numerous texts, but one dinner date and they were both tongue-tied.

John decided being honest and direct was his best option. He knew Sherlock appreciated directness. “Sherlock, I’m really glad we're finally doing this,” he said with more confidence than he really felt.

For several more seconds Sherlock didn’t speak. He gazed intently at John’s face as if searching for the truth of his words since he’d known Sherlock, he’d never seen the man look so flustered. It was adorable. “I- that is, me too, that is, I’m glad if you are amenable to the deepening of our relationship,” he said a bit stiffly, but John could detect a bit of uncertainty in his tone.

“I am,” he said. “Of course I am. Amenable and very happy, honestly.” John smiled brightly at him. 

Sherlock was clearly relieved and he returned John’s smile shyly. “I had deduced your attraction to me, of course,” he said with some of his usual superiority, “but I know my personality can be difficult to take. I was worried that my behaviour during my recuperation had changed your mind.”

“I like your personality, even when you're driving me mad, sulking or can’t stop talking to me about things no other person would ever talk about, like mould spores or the rate of decay of a pig’s intestine. Everything about you fascinates me. Also, I want you, Sherlock, very much.” He wanted to tell Sherlock he loved him but it didn’t feel like the right time. He reached out and put his hand over Sherlock’s. Sherlock was surprised but to John’s delight, he didn’t pull away.John held his breath, waiting.

Finally Sherlock spoke, “I confess I am elated to hear you say that because I admit your presence has become essential to my life. I find myself talking to you even when you aren’t there.”

John was at a loss for words. He had hoped Sherlock shared his feelings but he hadn’t believed it possible. To hear Sherlock state his feeling so plainly meant more than he could say. _That is the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me_ , John thought.

He could feel himself blushing. “Thank you,” he said simply. Then he raised his glass in a toast. “To us and our future together.”

“To us,” Sherlock echoed. They clinked there glasses together and Sherlock smiled again. John was beginning to think that smile was just for him.

Before either one of them could say anything else, the food came. That was fine with John though. Nothing more needed be said for now. He relaxed and asked Sherlock about his latest case and Sherlock immediately began regaling him with the tale of how he’d solved a case in less than an hour that had London’s finest stumped. John listened. He showed his appreciation in all the right places but he mostly watched Sherlock. He loved seeing him like this.

“I’d love to see you work again sometime,” he said. “Do you think I’d be allowed?"

Sherlock smiled clearly pleased. “Yes, I can guarantee it. If anyone complains I will simply tell them you are my doctor.”

John frowned at that. “Sherlock that isn’t really true. I don’t want you to get into trouble. 

He thought Sherlock might argue but all he said was “Fine, I’ll tell him you're my assistant. Is that acceptable?”

“Yes it is.” He rather liked the idea of helping Sherlock on his cases and he needed someone to watch his back. He didn’t like the idea of Sherlock in danger, without anyone to help him. What if he hadn’t been able to get help that day he’s shown up at John’ shop? Or if he hadn’t made it to John’s flat the night he’d been stabbed? He might have bled out, alone in some dark alley. John shivered. It didn’t bear thinking about.

John shook himself and tried to think about more pleasant things. He glanced at Sherlock, only to find him watching John knowingly. Sherlock opened his mouth no doubt to say something guaranteed to irritate him, but John lifted his hand.

“We’ll work out the details later.” He’d have to find a way to balance his business and his time with Sherlock. Which reminded him. “I have to make time to finish the rest of your suits. And I have clients so I won’t be able to run after you all the time.”

“Actually,” Sherlock replied. “I really want my new coat. I miss the old one.”

John grinned. “Now you tell me,” he said. “I’m doing the best I can.” He didn’t tell Sherlock the good news; he had decided to surprise him with the new coat later.

That reminded him of something he was very curious about but hadn’t felt he had the right to ask.

“Sherlock, can I ask you something?”

“Anything, John,” he replied seriously.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, why on Earth did you need a whole new wardrobe in the first place?”

Much to John’s delight Sherlock burst out laughing. It was the most beautiful sound John had ever heard.

****

After dinner, Sherlock took John home. John was startled when Sherlock got out of the cab and followed him. He turned his head and looked at Sherlock inquisitively.

“My research indicates it is appropriate for me to walk you to your door.”

John felt a rush of warmth that Sherlock had done actual research for their date.

He smile and took Sherlock’s hand as they walked. When they reached his door John turned to the man he hoped would soon be his lover, and marshalling his courage he asked, “May I kiss you?”

Sherlock looked endearingly uncertain but he nodded. John leaned up and closed his eyes. Their lips met after a moment and John felt a rush of tenderness and desire as their lips moved together. The kiss was a bit timid, a bit sloppy. Sherlock’s technique needed work but all in all it was still the best kiss John had ever had.

He gazed up into Sherlock’s eyes. He was done being a coward. Taking a deep breath he began to speak but Sherlock beat him to it.

“I love you,” Sherlock whispered. His expression was fearful but determined. He didn’t take his eyes from John’s.

For a moment John was frozen in shock, but then he smiled. “I love you too,” he replied. John thought his heart might explode from sheer happiness. Making a sudden decision, he took Sherlock’s hand and began to lead him inside.

“Come in,” he said, “I have a surprise for you.”

Sherlock simply nodded and allowed himself to be led inside, although John could see him visibly swallowing down his questions.

It was sweet how Sherlock purposely tried not to deduce all of John’s actions all the time. John knew Sherlock tried to respect his privacy, although he wasn’t always successful. John appreciated the effort, although he didn’t usually mind Sherlock deducing him. He didn’t want to discourage Sherlock’s thoughtfulness and it was nice to be able to surprise him, like at this moment. It hadn’t been easy hiding the fact that he’d found the coat. Hopefully it would pay off.

When they got upstairs John took their coats and left Sherlock in the sitting room and went into the bedroom. He grabbed Sherlock’s new coat from where it sat on one side of his bed, still in its box. He picked it up and carried it back out to Sherlock.

Sherlock watched him raptly as he walked back in. He saw the box and smiled excitedly at John. For a moment he looked like an excited little boy. John felt his heart melt a bit at the sight.

He took the box and opened it eagerly. He pulled out his coat. He stared at it for a moment as if he couldn’t quite believe it existed. Then he put it on. John moved forward out of habit and adjusted it for him and then turned up the collar. Sherlock was amazing in the coat, it fit him perfectly.

As John watched, something that had been missing fell into place. There was a relaxed almost peaceful expression on Sherlock’s face, as if he hadn't been complete without it. John was even more thrilled he’d managed to find it when he saw how much it meant to Sherlock.

Sherlock leaned forward and touched John’s face gently. He gazed into John eyes for a few seconds as if searching for something. He must have found it because he leaned forward and kissed John passionately. John felt all of Sherlock’s nervousness disappear as he surrendered to the desire burning between them 

John felt a corresponding rise in desire even as his heart filled with tenderness for Sherlock. He melted into the kiss. The significance of the moment, of the trust Sherlock was placing in him was not lost on him. He was determined to be worthy of Sherlock’s trust and his love.

They pulled back, gasping for air, and their gazes locked. John saw the desire burning in Sherlock’s eyes. He knew that they mirrored his own. Then he leaned forward and sprinkled kisses over his face and down his neck before moving back to his lips. They snogged like teenagers for a few minutes. Sherlock was enthusiastic if a bit inexperienced.

John removed the Belstaff and Sherlock’s jacket, he untucked Sherlock’s shirt and slid his hands underneath to touch skin. Sherlock moved eagerly to reciprocate; once John’s shirt was most of the way off he ran his hands over John’s chest. Then he attacked John’s mouth, giving him hard rough kisses and almost biting John’s lip. John groaned into Sherlock’s mouth as his arousal spiked. His cock was rock hard in his trousers.

After a few more delicious kisses John pulled back and asked if he wanted to move to the bedroom.

Sherlock nodded. John took his hand and together they walked into the bedroom.

Once inside, John reached out and pulled Sherlock close and they kissed again, their tongues moving together. They pulled back to breathe and John released his soon-to-be-lover long enough to unbutton and pull down Sherlock’s trousers. As they slipped down John saw he wasn’t wearing any pants. He didn’t think it was possible to get any harder but his dick proved him wrong. Desperate with desire he unzipped and stepped out of his own trousers and kicked of his underwear.

Finally, free of their clothing, John manoeuvred Sherlock onto the bed. Sherlock lay on the bed spread out like a banquet that only John would get to touch and taste. He wanted to worship Sherlock the way he deserved. Sherlock began to sit up trying to reach for John.

“Lie back,” John ordered, “and don’t move.” Sherlock wore an uncertain expression. John smiled softly and said reassuringly, “Trust me. Nothing you don’t want. I would never intentionally hurt you.”

Sherlock nodded and lay back down.

He stopped to stare at his Sherlock. He took in all the lovely skin on display only for him. “You are so bloody gorgeous, Sherlock. You take my breath away,” he said almost reverently.

_He is all mine_ , John thought. A primal part of him felt pleased at the idea. The reality was far better than anything he could have imagined.

He wanted to make sure Sherlock enjoyed himself thoroughly. After tonight, they would belong to one another. He hoped this would be the first of many such nights together.

He started at the soles of Sherlock’s feet. He rained kisses over the arch and then the top of his foot, then slowly up the leg, making sure to hit all the sensitive places. Beneath him, Sherlock gasped and made lovely little noises. John had guessed that Sherlock was vocal during sex, he was pleased to discover he was right.

When he reached Sherlock’s cock he stopped. It was long and slender and John reached out and ran his tongue over his hard length. He let go after a few licks. Sherlock moaned in protest. “Patience,” John said. Then he continued to kiss up his abdomen and chest, making sure to pay attention to the scars, the marks of his love’s bravery and survival.

He spent a long time on Sherlock’s nipples, playing with them and sucking on them. He bit on the left one gently, making Sherlock gasp and arch up toward him silently begging for more. Judging by Sherlock’s reaction, they were very sensitive. John grinned to himself and filed it away for future use.

When he reached Sherlock’s lips he kissed him deeply, allowing his lover to taste himself on John's tongue. He had intended to do the same to Sherlock’s back but he found he couldn’t wait anymore. Later, he promised himself. They had time, and John had several fantasies he wanted to explore.

He lay on top of Sherlock and aligned their cocks, and then he began moving against Sherlock. Sherlock slid his hands down John’s back slowly, taking his time, until he was able to grasp John’s arse in his hands. He pulled John tighter, against him increasing the sensation of pleasure between them.

John felt himself getting closer to the edge. “That’s it Sherlock, just like that,” he said softly. Sherlock moaned in approval as they picked up the pace. They continued to kiss, and John reached out and took Sherlock’s hand. “That’s it sweetheart, come for me,” he murmured. The endearment fell easily from his lips.

They both moved together when suddenly Sherlock stiffened, and came, calling out John’s name. John followed quickly after.

They lay next to each other panting. Then John got up and got one of his shirts, cleaning them up. When he got back in bed Sherlock reached for him. John was pleased. He hadn’t been sure if Sherlock would want to cuddle.

Sherlock stared at him intently; he had that expression on his face that said he was rapidly and efficiently sorting through new information. _Not even an orgasm slows him down_ , John thought fondly. Sherlock truly was unique. Sherlock wrapped his arm around John but did not speak for several minutes. Finally he spoke, “Is it always like that?” he asked.

John smiled. “No. Hopefully we’ll get better with practice.”

Sherlock was once again lost in his thoughts, until he unexpectedly spoke again. “This is a whole area of study which I never thought to pursue before. I must research and then I expect you to help me with various experiments I will devise,” he said enthusiastically.

John bit back a groan. Sherlock’s eagerness might kill him, but what a way to go. He cuddled Sherlock close, running his hand through his silken hair until he fell asleep.

He was awakened in the middle of the night by the warm wet heat of Sherlock’s mouth on his dick. Sherlock sucked eagerly on John’s cock. What he lacked in experience he made up for with enthusiasm. John was vocal with his pleasure and encouragement. He wanted to show Sherlock how much he enjoyed his ministrations.

John came quickly and then returned the favour. Sherlock tasted so good on his tongue. He didn’t think he'd ever get tired of the flavour of Sherlock’s skin. He really needed to make sure he savoured the rest of him soon. As he sucked he wondered idly how Sherlock felt about rimming.

Sherlock let out a desperate gasp, bringing John’s attention back to pleasuring Sherlock. He sucked more strongly until Sherlock came, coating his tongue and crying out his name again. With one final kiss, John released Sherlock’s cock and moved up to the head of the bed.

John tried to pull Sherlock back into his arms but Sherlock complained he wasn’t tired. John offered to let him use the laptop or read his books.

Sherlock went into the living room completely unabashedly naked to get John’s laptop, then got back into bed. As John fell asleep once again, he knew he could get used to this. He felt like a part of him he’d always been missing had slotted into place. He had never felt as good as he did with Sherlock beside him both of them sated and safe.

****

Sherlock lay in bed next to John, working on his laptop. John was by far the best thing that had ever happened to him. He’d chosen John’s shop on Stamford’s recommendation, but he could have easily chosen to ignore it. It had been the best, most fortunate decision of his life. The thought of never meeting John was too horrible to consider and Sherlock pushed it aside. Instead he focused on the present.

He enjoyed the feeling of being close to his sleeping lover more than he would have expected. He was doing research for their future sexual encounters. This was an area where he was woefully unprepared, a situation that must be rectified immediately. It wouldn’t do for John to become bored with him. Sherlock’s experience in this area, while not non-existent was severely lacking.

In the past, he had found his few forays into sex unsatisfactory to say the least. He had decided it was certainly something he could live without. He controlled his libido; it did not control him. With John everything was different. Sherlock had never believed he could feel such pleasure at the hand of another and he was startled but pleased to learn that emotional attachment only heightened the experience.

Customarily when he became focused on a new problem, nothing could sway his attention but tonight Sherlock felt his mind wandering toward John and everything that had happened between them. His thoughts on the issue were by necessity focused on John. Several times he found himself staring at John instead of his laptop screen. John was sexually exhausted, and Sherlock felt a great deal of satisfaction at his role in John’s current state.

His mind kept wandering to the way John’s mouth and hands had felt against his skin. The tender way he had touched Sherlock, making him feel both extremely sexy and very loved. Sherlock never imagined that he’d crave these types of validations but having received them he wanted to experience them again. He wanted to always be desirable to and loved by John Watson.

Staring at the man next to him should have been boring. Instead, John presented a captivating sight that Sherlock couldn’t ignore. Nothing about John could ever be boring to him. He wanted to know everything about John. He wanted to pick him apart until there was nothing about this man that didn’t belong to him. No one would ever know John the way he did. More surprising, he wanted John to know him the same way. He wanted to protect John and keep him safe from anything that might hurt him. The possibility of John being hurt or in pain was unbearable to him. _Is this love_? Sherlock wondered.

Sherlock’s mind was filled with so much emotion he found it difficult to process it all. For a man who prided himself on being unemotional it should have been a daunting experience. He was undergoing a riot of conflicting feelings every time he thought about the man beside him. Affection and joy, mixed with fear and confusion, all of it overlaid by feelings of belonging and of possessiveness. It was almost too much and yet it was marvellous. Sherlock wanted more; he wanted to experience all he could with John.

He had been forced to endure so many negative emotions since his return that the wash of positive feelings he was experiencing felt almost incredible.

For the first time he wanted to have someone to come home to. For the first time Sherlock needed someone else in his life. For the first time he knew what it felt like to be wanted, to be needed and loved by another. He would do whatever he could to make John happy, to keep John with him, because he knew he could not go back to his empty pre-John existence. Amazingly he knew John felt the same. John loved him just as he was. This was a gift Sherlock would not squander. He would do everything in his power to keep John with him, safe and content for the rest of his days.

He put the laptop on the floor and snuggled down next to John. He allowed the sound of his breathing to send him into a deep sleep.

****

The next morning dawned bright and sunny, dovetailing with John’s mood nicely. He got up and made tea and toast, humming as he worked. He’d normally make coffee for himself but he knew how much Sherlock loved it when John made him tea. He also decided to bring the strawberry jam. He didn’t have a tray so he balanced the plates on his hands. He walked into his bedroom and set the plates on the bedside table. He took a moment to appreciate the stunning man in his bed.

Sherlock lay on his stomach and the sheet had slipped down so that John could see the top of his delectable arse peeking out. John leaned down and kissed the scars on his back before moving up, kissing Sherlock gently on his cheek.

Sherlock awakened slowly, opening his eyes and observing John blearily. In the next second he was wide awake and turned over, pulling John on top of him. They kissed for several long minutes and then reluctantly John forced himself to pull away.

“I have to go to work,” John said. He tried to force himself to calm down. He was already getting aroused, as was Sherlock. 

Sherlock shook his head. “No, stay. I spent part of the night doing research. There are several other positions I want to try.” He smiled at John eagerly and a bit shyly. 

John groaned as his arousal intensified but he forced himself to be responsible.

“Tonight,” he promised. “You can meet me when I get off work.”

For a second, it seemed like Sherlock was going to argue but then nodded with reluctance. With a sigh, John forced himself to take a shower and get dressed. He ate a piece of cold toast and forced it down with equally cold tea.

Sherlock was stepping out of the shower when John was ready to leave. He walked out into the sitting room wearing nothing but a towel.

John closed his eyes and forced himself to take a deep breath, willing his arousal to dissipate.Sherlock grinned at him knowingly.

“You are going to be the death of me,” John said with mock anger.

Sherlock seized him and gave him a hard kiss. “Never,” he said fiercely. “I plan to keep you around for a long, long time.”

“Try to eat something please,” he said. Sherlock didn’t respond but John hadn’t expected him to. John allowed himself one more kiss. “Solve me a case, Sherlock Holmes,” he whispered and he had the pleasure of watching his own special smile grace Sherlock’s face.

As he walked to the tube stop, grinning like the lovesick idiot he was, John knew that life with Sherlock would never be boring. He couldn’t wait. The future was going to be interesting indeed.

****

Epilogue

John arrived home exhausted; it had been an impossibly long day. He hoped Sherlock was home already because he hadn’t seen his partner since breakfast. Well, _John_ had had breakfast; Sherlock had indulged in a small sulk at being deprived of John’s company. They both disliked it when they were apart all day. They both _hated_ when he couldn’t come with Sherlock on cases even more, but it was a necessary evil.

Sherlock had asked him to move into the flat in Baker Street almost right away, as he had declared John’s flat intolerable. John had taken exception to that particular characterization but he couldn’t deny Sherlock’s flat was more comfortable, even with the heads in the fridge, and the occasional experiment gone awry.

However, John had been cautious. It had taken them some time and a lot of compromise to find a balance between their jobs and their commitment to one another. There had been many problems to work through and obstacles to overcome. Sherlock’s trauma was very real and his refusal to deal with it was still an issue, but they were making progress. There were many times when John had wondered if they’d make it but thankfully he and Sherlock were both stubborn and resilient bastards.

There had been many arguments and John had found himself sleeping at his old flat on several occasions, but he had always come back. He could never stay away for long. Even when he was angry, he missed Sherlock and he knew Sherlock felt the same. It had taken a lot of work but they were finally in a really good place. Although, John wished he was more successful in getting Sherlock to eat.

John had finally agreed to move in permanently a few weeks ago and he had never been happier. He knew Sherlock felt the same. As he dragged himself into the sitting room, John glanced around eagerly for Sherlock. He found his love sitting at John’s laptop typing furiously. There was an intent and manic air about him that was very familiar to John. _The case is an interesting one then_ , John thought, pleased.

He knew from past experience that soon Sherlock would retreat into his mind palace. John wondered if he could convince him to eat something or at least drink some tea. He observed quietly and decided it wasn’t likely. He felt Sherlock’s gaze on him and Sherlock’s eyes swept over him quickly, deducing his day at a glance .John sat down on the sofa with a tired sigh.

“That bad?” Sherlock asked as he got up, and sat next to him.

John nodded and then leaned toward Sherlock and stole a quick kiss. As he pulled away Sherlock grasped his chin gently, keeping John in place and kissed him again more deeply. When they moved apart John slumped down against him and closed his eyes.

“It was bloody awful”, he said, finally answering Sherlock’s question. “He is impossible. I swear if that wanker changes his mind one more time, important friend of Mycroft or not, I won't be responsible for my actions.”

Sherlock hummed in agreement but didn’t say anything else. John was grateful he didn’t take the time to say _I told you so_ , although he was sure that Sherlock’s expression spoke his feelings clearly. He’d warned John not to agree to do a favour for Mycroft. John had privately agreed, but felt he couldn’t refuse Mycroft – he was Sherlock’s brother, after all. John knew Mycroft cared for Sherlock, in his case actions really did speak louder than words.

He had hoped agreeing might make things easier between the three of them. He acknowledged it was probably a fool’s errand. Dealing with Sherlock and Mycroft separately was difficult, together they were impossible. They had a way of making John feel like the only adult in the room. John suspected that secretly the brothers enjoyed their antagonistic relationship too much to change their ways. John, however, didn’t think that expecting them to behave like adults was asking too much. So far, he had made little headway but he was determined to keep trying.

He felt Sherlock kiss the top of his head and begin to move away. John gave a sleepy protest but didn’t try to stop him. John knew he had to get up and start supper but he was too comfortable to move. He took a deep breath taking comfort in the familiar scent of his lover, formaldehyde, smoke and sandalwood from Sherlock’s shampoo. John felt himself beginning to relax.

Sherlock returned with a glass of wine, and John took it with a small smile. He sipped it slowly; he was so tired the wine would probably put him to sleep. A few minutes later Sherlock began playing the violin. John recognized one of his favourite songs and he smiled to himself. Trust Sherlock to pick music to comfort him even as he immersed himself in his current case. It was one of the many small but important ways Sherlock showed his love.

When Sherlock had first walked into his shop John had never imagined this would be where he’d end up. He’d believed himself to be content, but it was only because of Sherlock that he knew how wonderful life could be. Sherlock’s playing was a warm and familiar comfort. John let the music push all the day’s troubles away and drain all the tension from his body. Everything else could wait until later. He had finally found the place he belonged. The person he called home. In the end, that was all that mattered.

 The End.

**Author's Note:**

> I found this [photo](http://cumberbum.tumblr.com/post/88104770421/an-edit-a-day-benedict-cumberbatch-315%0A/) and it's my head canon for how Sherlock looks in the suit John made for him. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. Comments and constructive criticism welcome.


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